Bent
by elle.writes
Summary: Tony waited for him in that shitty bar in the shit side of town. A man of his stature waited for no one but then, he would do anything for Bruce. (Warning: Major Character Death. Please read note for full warnings at the beginning of fic.)
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Bent

**Author:** ELLE

**Pairings/Warnings:** Tony Stark/Bruce Banner, major character death, euthanasia, explicit sexual situations, explicit language, angst, darkness, a bit of sap because I can't help myself

**Author's Notes:** I am what I personally would consider a casual Marvel fan. I've watched the movies and most of the animated series that were easily available to me but I haven't read the comics in depth or anything like that. There are most likely inaccuracies in this and that kills me but I totally never even intended to write this, it was supposed to end after the first chapter and just be a smutty one-shot for character development and here we are 15,000+ words later. I just hate not knowing a fandom in and out so I feel the need to post this warning as well as my sincere apologies for any mistakes.

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><p><em>Start bending me, it's never enough<br>__As I feel all your pieces  
><em>_Start bending me, keep bending me  
><em>_Oh, until I'm completely broken in  
><em>_Shouldn't be so complicated  
><em>_Just touch me and then  
><em>_Oh, just touch me again..._

Bent – Matchbox 20

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><p>Custom tailored suits. Forty-year old single malt whiskey. International super models. Tony Stark could have anything he wanted any night of the week and yet there he was in that pissant little bar drinking shitty rum mixed with Coke that was stretched too thin in a faded grey hoodie and worn jeans waiting – always waiting. And Tony was not patient, not good at waiting. He went out and got what he wanted – except with <em>him<em>.

Maybe that was what kept him there, waiting – his inability to acquire him. Tony stared at the cigarette between his fingers. He'd hardly touched it, just liked to watch them burn. It was so slow. Nothing in his life was slow but the red glow had him transfixed – plus it stopped him from checking his phone. There wouldn't be a message left there anyway. He just had to wait.

The old, wrinkled bartender had long ago stopped looking at him with that skeptical haven't-I-seen-you-somewhere-before look Tony always got while incognito and just accepted his presence. If he knew that he was Tony Stark, he never shared the secret. For that, Tony was grateful. He was getting used to the place now. It wouldn't be easy to arrange a different location. Not one this convenient.

But still – he'd seen Tony get stood up enough times by now to have some amount of pity and he refilled his drink every half-hour without asking until midnight, when Tony would give up. He glanced at the clock, stuck onto mirrored paneling over the bar in some ridiculous aesthetic disaster. He had twenty minutes. Tony picked at the skin around his thumb as ash fell onto the polished wooden bar. Fucking stupid.

Just like always, the mental diatribe came. No one could reduce a man of his stature to this. It was pathetic. It was weak. What would his father say? He was better than this and this was the last time he'd sit here, shamed and alone, waiting for a man so far beneath him to come and do what? Make him feel better for a minute? Bullshit. He didn't need anyone else. He didn't need –

But then the bells hung over the door jangled, cutting off his thoughts, and he tried not to be too damn obvious about it. Christ. He was pathetic but he looked up and there _he_ was and it didn't really matter any more.

Bruce was in a beat-up khaki blazer with some blue checkered button up, looking like the haphazard professor with a pocket protector or something and Tony tried to keep down the outright grin that wanted to force itself onto his face. What was he, fucking fifteen? Overeager and just dying to be noticed? Disgusting.

And Bruce didn't look thrilled either. Not that it mattered, Tony's mind quickly supplied, because he'd fix him up, he'd make him feel better, he'd – kill that line of thinking and stop being so damn stupid.

Though he tried like always to force his eyes back to the cigarette, Tony couldn't take his eyes off of him as he made his way to the bar, the small space suddenly seeming warm and intimate where it was crushing and lonely before. And when Bruce sat down beside him, there was already a glass of tonic water at his seat waiting for him. Tony noticed the little smile the bartender tried to hide but the man was fucking ancient and lost in his own world, not realizing how obvious he was being though he was standing as far from them as possible to give them some space.

Sure didn't boost his self-esteem but then – did it matter? Bruce was here, he came tonight. That was enough.

"They follow me fucking everywhere," Bruce muttered under his breath by way of greeting and Tony frowned, knowing who he was talking about, understanding his frustration.

Tony had his own share of paparazzi, but typically not the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent variety and never because of a lack of trust. For someone that spent so much time trying to maintain perfect control, it had to be frustrating as hell to be constantly questioned, constantly doubted. Not that Tony didn't get it, right? In the wrong mindset the man was a beast who, frankly, couldn't be stopped. But then...

Bruce's hand trembled on the glass, nails worn down from biting, eyes looking everywhere but at Tony. His nerves were shot. He was just a man, too, a simple man. A brilliant man, sure, but with simple desires, small things that no one could give him – not even a man like Tony who could move the world.

Tony shrugged, feeling an inescapable sorrow that he tried to shove into the deepest recesses of his heart where it belonged. "We'll just fuckin' kill 'em."

Bruce looked over at him to gauge his intent and their eyes met for a moment. The fact of the matter was, Tony was only partially joking – because he'd do damn near anything for Bruce. But he couldn't say that so he grinned instead and Bruce sighed out a little laugh, fingers extended for the cigarette.

It was Bruce's brand – although Tony was fairly certain he was just an enabler and that Bruce only smoked them within the confines of this little bar. Bruce didn't drink but Tony wasn't the kind of guy who didn't indulge vices and he couldn't let Bruce off without one. He deserved that. He deserved fucking something.

He held the half burnt-out cigarette like a relic, real careful, the tremor in his hand knocking ash off the end as he brought it to his lips. Tony already had the pack out, tapping another out for him in anticipation of his desire. Tension faded from Bruce's face as he drew in too fast and coughed a little. Something deep inside Tony hurt as he watched but he didn't let himself think about it.

"I don't know," Bruce said after a minute and Tony's jaw clenched shut, working hard, attempting patience but he knew what Bruce was going to say.

"I can't do this." Bruce turned his face away, unable to look at Tony, hurting him more than he'd ever know.

"I shouldn't have come." Bruce took another drag off the cigarette and blew out smoke across the bar in a long thin line.

"I just –" But Tony was done listening. He didn't let Bruce finish.

Instead, he grabbed at his dumbass, dorky-looking professor-style lapels with one hand and drug him into a kiss. There was the taste of the cigarette on his mouth but also some cheap mint mouthwash he must've used before he came and it was stupid but it turned Tony on. It was just so damn real. Bruce was the only thing in his life that was real and he was way too damn stubborn to let that go.

Of course Bruce resisted, he couldn't just accept anything spontaneous like that. Opposites might attract but they were like two positively charged particles, unable to meet, repelling each other. They wanted the same damn thing but Bruce had to fight him the whole way down.

"Fuck 'em," Tony growled against his lips as they closed, tired and angry and horny and a little drunk.

Bruce sighed and put a hand on his chest, separating them a few inches, trying to get him to drop it. But Tony was too fucking stubborn.

"You're human," Tony argued, voice getting unnecessarily loud in the empty bar. "You have free will. You have rights."

"No," Bruce replied, much more calmly. "I'm not. I don't."

Tony was angry and he didn't understand why Bruce wasn't angry too. How could he be so resigned to this fate? How could he just sit there and take it, let them dictate his life to him like this? If there was one thing Tony couldn't stand, it was complacency. Especially where he was involved.

"You _are_." Tony leaned forward and kissed his stiff lips again, like throwing himself up against a brick wall and sliding down but he didn't care – he had to try.

But Bruce was just as stubborn as he was, apparently, refusing to listen and Tony eyed him for a minute before he gave up and hunched over the bar, lighting another cigarette as Bruce smashed his out in the tray. He handed it over without looking at him.

"You are to me," he muttered and Bruce paused, his fingers resting on the cigarette and Tony could feel his eyes on him, studying him – but he couldn't look back at him.

It was too damn frustrating. Bruce might've been a monster but Tony was dead and he didn't let that stop him from getting what he wanted. Most of the time, anyway. Except, apparently, where Bruce was concerned. Not that that made it any less frustrating.

But the cigarette remained between his fingers and Bruce's hands were on either side of his face and they shook even worse than before but it didn't matter. Bruce was kissing him, his mouth hard and hot against his own, sending a sharp jolt of desire to his gut. And Tony kissed him back with equal fervor, nothing giving him more pleasure than Bruce giving up his hard won control to him.

"Let me get the tab," Tony said with a chuckle, the words barely escaping Bruce's mouth.

There was a faint blush on Bruce's face as he pulled away, taking the newly lit cigarette from Tony so he could dig the wallet out of his back pocket and throw down some bills. Bruce smoothed his hair with unsteady fingers, cigarette dangling from his lips, and there was just something about him... Something unstated and sexy. Something Bruce didn't know about himself.

They headed out of the bar together, Tony pulling his hoodie tight and trying to ignore the sly smile the bartender gave him. It wasn't like he was some twenty-year-old kid about to get laid. Hell, they'd fucked enough times that this wasn't even particularly out of the ordinary, but he tried to quell his stupid grin as Bruce flicked ash into the night. Maybe he wasn't some dumb kid, but he was sure acting like one. Guess he couldn't blame the bartender for treating him that way, too.

The motel was only a couple blocks up the street and the blood in Tony's veins hummed in anticipation. He tried to be patient but the memory of Bruce's lips was seared on his own and he wanted to slam him up against the wall right here, devour him, make him understand what it meant to be human and make sure he never regretted it.

Tony paid the bored looking receptionist hiding behind her black and her book in cash. He liked her because she never looked up at them, just handed over the key. He wasn't under any illusion that S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't watching them right at that moment, but hey, as long as no major news networks showed up, he'd mark their escapades down as a success. Couldn't escape everybody.

They knew the motel well and didn't need to be directed to room fourteen. It was so ridiculously subpar to what Tony was used to experiencing that it still made him laugh. But it was relatively clean and they only saw a roach a couple of times and that's all he cared about. Not like they were there for the scenery.

In another life, Tony would've offered him something better than the way he pushed him up against the door as he shut it, branding hot kisses across his neck. There would've been expensive champagne and canapés on his breath instead of cheap cigarettes and tonic water, a slow worship of his body with each button undone instead of the frantic removal of clothes, nearly tearing with impatience, rushed kisses stolen as each article fell to the floor.

His body was hot against Tony's and in that moment the nervous convulsions of his hands stopped as he buried them into the back pockets of Tony's pants, dragging him closer, closer than was physically feasible. Tony pushed down Bruce's slightly-too-big slacks until they fell around his ankles. He slid his hands underneath his boxers, feeling the smooth skin, running them back up his body, covering every inch he could as quickly as possible, wishing they had more time.

Was Bruce's the most perfect body he'd ever been with? No. At this point, Tony had slept with so many people, it was a blur – comparison didn't even matter. But once again, Bruce won out simply because he was real. Nothing was edited, there was no shame, no desire to be something else. Tony knew if he could live every moment of his life inside that body he would, without question.

He fell to his knees in front of Bruce, tugging at the waistband of his boxers. Tony grinned, watching Bruce's hands clench, his stomach muscles tightening reflexively in anticipation, vulnerable at being so exposed. Giving head was something Tony thoroughly enjoyed doing and Bruce was so damn appreciative...

Tony licked across his head and descended on him quickly – the sharp inhale, the fingers reaching for his hair, the tremor in his thighs intoxicating him, making him ache, making him want it more. Slowly he sucked, teasing him with his tongue, swallowing around his head, listening intently to all the little noises Bruce made as he palmed himself through his pants to ease the tension. As much as he wanted Bruce, what he wanted more was this – having him panting, wanting, _feeling_ – reminding him what it meant to be real.

Tony got a second chance – he wasn't going to waste it. Neither should Bruce.

"Stop!" He gasped, his fingers twisting in his hair, pulling hard enough to make Tony pause and look up.

There was a blush all over Bruce's face and it was so much more appealing than the pallor he'd walked into the bar with. And Tony grinned as he stood, leaning in close so that their noses touched.

"You want me, baby?" His voice was a low, rough whisper, lips moving against Bruce's as his hand met his dick, stroking it to elicit a sudden moan.

"Tony!" Bruce shoved him, embarrassed by Tony's teasing but then Tony loved that, too.

Tony grabbed his wrist at the end of his push and in a scuffle they fell onto the bed. Bruce was smiling up at him as he crawled on top and he loved to see him smile like that. It made him want to kiss him forever. It was a cheesy thought, but then Tony had never claimed he wasn't cheesy. Tony like grand, flamboyant displays of everything – affection notwithstanding.

So he kissed him like he'd never get another chance, poured all his feeling into it because frankly, he didn't know if he ever would.

"Tony," Bruce said, separating their mouths for a minute, trying to look up at him but their faces were too close together, their noses side by side.

But Tony didn't want to look at him and he buried his face in his neck, biting at it, digging lube and a condom out of his back pocket. It was easier when this was just about sex. It wasn't, he could admit that, at least to himself anyway, when he was sitting there waiting for him in that fucking bar. Yeah, there was a whole fuck ton more to it than that but this was easier and he didn't want to hear Bruce say his name like that.

He slid his fingers into him, felt the familiar heat, the tightness, felt his own dick ache at what he was about to do. It was different with him, his insatiable need fulfilled, sure, but – there was something else. There was desire, there was want, there was _longing_ for that familiarity, that comfort that only Bruce could provide for him and he wished he could do something more than bury himself in the other man's flesh and hide all his feelings inside his skin.

Bruce goaned as Tony mounted him, his head pressed back into the pillows. And then Tony looked up, watched his face – the way he bit his lip, the way he threw his head back, the way his fingers twisted in the pillowcase. The truth was, Tony was captivated by watching Bruce experience pleasure and he watched every little detail, every minute change in expression so carefully as he slid his thumb roughly over a nipple, ran his fingers down his ribcage to his abs, gripped his ass with his other hand and squeezed.

The jeans Tony didn't bother to take off cut into his legs but he hardly felt them. The motion of his hips was steady, rhythmic, matching time with the hand on Bruce's dick. He knew Bruce's biggest fear and he used everything at his disposal to ground the other man there, remind him of this moment. There was nothing he wouldn't do –

"Bruce," he sighed, leaning over him, a hand on the side of his face, thumb on his cheek, pressing into it a little hard and Bruce's eyes cracked open, that familiar glaze to them as they locked onto his.

"Tony!" Bruce gasped back, his hand reaching for Tony's, covering it, fingers intertwining as he pressed Tony's palm harder against his own cheek.

"I'm s–" There was a helpless little sob in the back of his throat and Tony could feel Bruce's thighs start to tremble.

And he kissed his knees as he sat back, as if he could kiss away that tremor, trying to keep his heart from breaking as he heard it, just before Bruce managed to cut himself off, before he could utter the full phrase, the phrase Bruce had tried not to say so many times. _I'm scared_.

He tried not to frown, tried to smile down at the man he cared so much about, tried to believe this was the right thing, that this was what he needed but he always doubted himself in this few seconds before he came. Was it worth it to make Bruce experience this fear...?

"_Fuck_, Tony, I –"

Bruce's ragged cry was all the warning Tony got before he was moaning that delicious moan that sent a shiver straight up Tony's spine and cum was spilling over his hand and Bruce's hand was clutching at the bedsheets as his body arched beneath him. The friction on his dick intensified to the point where Tony lost control of his pacing, helplessly pushing forward a few last times, desperate for his own release.

Tony fell forward, bracing himself on his hands as he came, heedless of the cum he smeared on the bedsheets, just staring down at the bliss written across Bruce's face. He swallowed hard, willing away the overwhelming wave of emotion he felt crashing through him along with his orgasm, trying instead to act cavalier as he pulled out and fell down on the bed next to him.

He watched as Bruce sighed and closed his eyes for a minute, his face falling to the side in the pillow, the corner of his mouth quirked up into the barest of grins. Tony suppressed the desire to stroke at his hair, brush a few curls from his forehead, press himself against his body and listen to his heart beating in his chest.

Instead, he went to the bathroom, rolled off the condom, washed his hands and ran a washcloth under the facet in the cracked sink basin. His chest felt too tight as he wiped at the sweat on his forehead, remembering the sound of Bruce's voice as he –

But he had a plane to catch in two hours taking him to a tech conference in Tokyo and he didn't have a lot of time so he zipped his jeans, stared at himself hard in the mirror for a minute, grounding himself. He looked like shit but he'd have time to sleep on the plane. Ran a hand over his face, knuckles brushing his goatee. Sleep. Ha.

He looked back at Bruce in the mirror, wiping at his stomach with the sheets, digging in Tony's hoodie pockets for the cigarettes and his lighter. And he watched as he dangled the cigarette in his lips, lit it, blew out the first puff of smoke. Tony didn't know why that seemed so damn sexy when he did it.

Tony waited until he'd settled back on the bed before he walked in, grabbing his undershirt and sliding it on. He knew what he had to say, what he had to ask to get the weight off his chest, but the answer...

"Is this... Is this okay?" he finally asked, standing at the end of the bed, staring at the foot of it, embarrassed by his stumble.

Bruce glanced at him and then stared at the cigarette. The was still a tremor in his hand, but it was only a slight tick, barely perceptible except Tony was looking for it.

"There's a moment, where it feels like everything is going to fall apart," he said, not looking up. "But instead, it all just disappears and I'm... free."

He buried as much of his face as he could in his hand as he brought the cigarette back to his lips, clearly embarrassed, but Tony swelled with pride, happily accepting that answer. He crawled up between Bruce's legs and lay his head down on his naked chest, staring up at him with dark eyes as he capitulated to his earlier wish and listened to the thumping of Bruce's heart.

Bruce returned his stare with a little hesitation, but soon he couldn't help but smile at Tony's big, puppy-dog eyes. Worked on Pepper all the time. He ran his fingers through Tony's hair, Tony practically preening at the affection. God, he was pathetic – but he couldn't be bothered to care.

"Come with me to Tokyo," he asked suddenly, feeling foolish and hopeful. "It's the trade conference for –"

But Bruce was laughing and shaking his head. "Thirteen hours on a plane?"

"Yeah, but it's my personal jet." There was particularly plaintive note in his voice that horrified him but he couldn't help it. He just wanted Bruce to be there, with him. He didn't want to leave.

"Tony, I – I _can't_."

He hated the way Bruce's face dropped into a frown so he turned his eyes away and nuzzled against his chest for a minute, focusing on the feeling of him breathing instead, the smell of his skin, his sweat, the warmth of his body against his cheek.

Part of him wanted to say "one day" or maybe even "please" – but the rest of him didn't want to make Bruce feel guilty so he kept his mouth shut. It was rare, but he didn't want to ruin this moment with words. He didn't need so many words with Bruce.

Maybe _that_ was why...

"You should go," Bruce finally said as he snuffed the cigarette out in the tray on the nightstand.

Tony knew it was true, knew he couldn't argue Bruce but then he didn't want to go. He didn't know the next time they'd be in the same city together and it seemed like he'd just gotten there and Tony just wanted... _more_ than this.

Maybe he should have been asking himself if this was okay, not Bruce. Was this helping him? Or was it only making things worse?

He climbed reluctantly off of the other man, standing to get his hoodie. His phone was flashing some bullshit warning about only having an hour to meet his pilot and he slid the notification away. If his pilot wanted to remain on the Stark Industry payroll, his pilot would wait.

Tony didn't say goodbye. Goodbye was a word with too much weight, too much implication, and besides – "bye" was never "good."

Instead, he said "I'll be back" as he handed Bruce the package of cigarettes. He paused a minute, contemplated kissing him one last time, but maybe that was too cliche. This wasn't one of his elaborately created fantasies – this was a mediocre hotel room in a shit side of town and he wasn't a hero in this story, even if he wanted to be. Even though he tried he couldn't delude himself into thinking he was actually helping Bruce, actually doing something good for him, but still he –

Ah fuck it.

Tony placed a hand on the back of his neck as he leaned down and pressed their lips together, one final searing kiss that took Bruce's breath away. He was Tony _fucking_ Stark – he was _supposed_ to be memorable. And at that moment – he wanted Bruce to remember.

He pressed his forehead hard against Bruce's, his palm cupping his face, looking him straight in the eyes and he said –

"I'll see you again."

Bruce's breath hitched and Tony knew he knew what he meant and he turned away before it could get to be too much, before it was too hard to leave. Because once he was back out in the cold, dark night, he truly wished he hadn't.


	2. Chapter 2

Same scenario, different week. Fuck, different month. Tony watched the cigarette burning in his fingers, wondering what the hell he was doing here. He'd been to Tokyo, Chicago, Paris, and the goddamn middle of nowhere Bolivia on an arms deal since they'd seen one another. He couldn't even find Bruce through any of his damn humanitarian aid organizations and he wasn't showing up here, either.

This was the third night Tony was left waiting for him. It wasn't consecutive, he didn't have the time for that. Frankly, he didn't even have the time to be doing this, especially when he knew he was going to be stood up. Fuck.

Tony fingered the glass and then downed the mixed whiskey. Fuck him. Fuck him for leaving him like this. Fuck him for making him want it. Fuck him for being so damn fuckably fucking... FUCK.

He glared at the clock. Twelve-oh-six. He never waited past twelve and yet here he was, sitting in the cracked and peeling bar seat, feeling the structure of it biting into his ass thanks to the long deflated padding, and he was waiting. Did he really need to see Bruce that badly? A man he couldn't even admit that he – that he... Fuck.

He was tired. It was obvious – he couldn't keep his train of thought on the tracks. There was no point in waiting. Bruce wasn't going to come. He might as well swallow his pride and leave. Even the old bartender was making disappointed eyes at him as he debated whether or not to fill his glass once more and Tony hated that. Was he really just going to sit there and take it?

But he did. He waited until the clock passed the fifteen minute mark and then he talked himself into leaving. It was like every minute could be "just one more minute" but there was always a point you had to give up. Right? This bar would close eventually. And Bruce probably wasn't even in the fucking country so what was he doing? Wasting time he could be asleep.

He sighed and dug his wallet out of his back pocket, letting his cigarette burn out in the ashtray. For a minute he considered leaving the whole pack with his bill, but he didn't. It was stupid but it made him feel uncomfortable, like he was abandoning Bruce there – which he already felt he was, leaving like this. Which was also stupid. Bruce wasn't coming. But he couldn't help it.

The bills were carefully positioned under his empty glass as he stood, wondering if he'd ever see the interior of this place again. There was only so much his pride could take. Bruce should've known that. He should've respected that.

Tony walked out on the street with his hands tucked into his hoodie pockets like a dumb sulking kid but fuck it – he didn't care. He kept his eyes on the sidewalk to hide his face, just wanting to get back to the out-of-the-way deck conveniently owned by part of the Stark Industries conglomerate that he kept his car at on these outings without some drunk bastard stumbling into him and recognizing him. He could feel eyes on him and he hated that feeling, hated being watched like that. It seemed counterintuitive for someone who deliberately put himself in the public spotlight the way he did but that was of his own design, that was his choice. This was an invasion of his privacy.

Then he realized he was being followed. That persistent nagging at the base of his skull telling him as much, a glance in the reflection of the window across the street confirming it. Fuck. Usually S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't that damn obvious but –

But he glanced back at the window again and slowed down, the beat up brown jacket familiar, the stalker standing out in the middle of the sidewalk, not even attempting to hide. And Tony turned around to face Bruce, brows furrowing in confusion, trying not to smile despite the way his heart pounded in his chest. He was supposed to be mad, _damn it_. Why couldn't he be mad?

"Tony, I –" His words fumbled as Tony stepped up to him, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I waited." Tony tried to keep his voice hard as he studied Bruce's eyes, trying to discern what would keep him waiting like that. His ego refused to let him capitulate immediately.

"I wanted to go in, but I – I just –" He was shaking worse than usual, his voice trembling with it and Tony's defenses fell completely.

"Hey." Tony's arms dropped to his sides and he wanted to reach out to him but the street was no place to make a scene and he shoved them in his pockets instead, clenching his fists to keep them from Bruce's face. He was just such a damn tactile person. "It's okay. I only –"

"Tony," he interrupted, steadying for just a moment, eyes flashing desperation. "Get me out of here?"

Tony's mouth set in a long thin line but he nodded, dragging the beat up pack of smokes from his pocket and pressing them to Bruce's chest. There was a hint of a smile as Bruce caught them and he turned, handing back the lighter from his other pocket.

"My car's a block away."

Tony heard the crack of the lighter from behind him, caught the smell of burning nicotine in the still night air before he rounded a corner into the dark, empty parking deck. He always parked on a lower level in the far corner and their footfalls echoed through the dark and lonely space.

Though not so lonely any more.

His nerves jumped with anticipation and as he slid into the familiar embrace of the driver's seat, watching the awkward way Bruce always sat in the car, like he knew the price and he wasn't comfortable knowing it. Not like he was afraid of wrecking it or anything so self-destructive, more like he thought there was some other way of doing it that he was unaware of. It was... it was really adorable and Tony leaned over, getting his attention.

Bruce looked back at him, confused, removing the cigarette from his mouth with shaking fingers to ask what was wrong and Tony kissed him. For a moment it seemed that he wanted to protest but then he kissed back, his tongue trailing across Tony's bottom lip, sending a shiver down his spine, making him half-hard and hornier than he had any right to be.

He grinned as he pulled away and backed the car out of the space real smooth. Bruce's brows narrowed in confusion as he tried to figure out what the fuck Tony was grinning about but Tony didn't care. That just made him smile even wider.

The fact of the matter was – Bruce was here. Bruce _wanted_ him. And he didn't dwell too long on that, didn't think about the implications too hard, but it was a damn fact and the evidence was sitting right next to him.

It was cold in the convertible, the night air whipping around them at nearly ninety miles per hour on the freeway but Tony didn't care and Bruce didn't seem to either. He just wanted to get out of the city, be somewhere they could see stars and Bruce just wanted to be anywhere but there. Tony understood, knew what it was like to feel panic clawing it's way up your throat until you could hardly breathe and that was what he saw when Bruce asked him to leave. He would do anything.

J.A.R.V.I.S. fed him information about various parks and hotels along the way until he picked something by a lake. It was technically closed – "visiting hours are from 6 a.m. to dusk" – but there were no gates and they weren't some dumbass kids there to vandalize the place anyway. It was quiet and Bruce kinda laughed when they parked in the cracked and faded blacktop, pictures of tents with arrows and a hiking trail names burnt into taupe painted wooden markers lining the lot. Tony knew they'd both been to nicer scenic spots than this but... not together. This was the only kind of vacation they'd ever have.

"You can see the stars," Tony said and it felt awkward when he said it to Bruce, when he wasn't trying to woo some Gucci-dressed conquest. Maybe that was sincerity. But Bruce leaned back and looked up with him, smoke curling from his lips and dissipating into the sky.

"Yeah," he breathed on the exhale, really appreciating it, giving Tony a warm feeling of satisfaction in his gut.

Bruce had calmed down significantly, the tremor in his hands barely noticeable, his breathing evening out and Tony watched him watching the sky. It was fucked, it really was. The things Tony could give him, anything money could buy, Bruce would never need. He could do nothing with that. And the things Bruce needed, the things he _deserved_ – security, safety, _home_ – Tony could never give him. That was the part that hurt.

"Hey, I –" Tony started, unsure what he was even going to say but needing to say something, anything, before the cavern in his chest got so big it would swallow him. And Bruce looked at him, really looked at him, his eyes clear and then –

Then they were kissing and it was raw and hot and _perfect_ and Tony's hands were on the back of his head, burying themselves in his hair and Bruce's fists were balled in his jacket, pulling him closer. But it wasn't enough.

In a clumsy shuffle Bruce crawled into his seat and on top of him, hips locked, paying no attention to the chuckle in the back of Tony's throat as he kissed him. Tony's hands shifted down to Bruce's waist, the pressure of his body feeling good and warm in the cold night. His hands were burning into Tony's neck and his hips started to rock – just a little, like he just couldn't help himself and it drove Tony crazy. Nothing fueled his libido – and his ego – like being fervently wanted. But with Bruce it was tenfold because Bruce didn't care about his money or his power. Bruce truly, genuinely wanted _him_.

His fingers fumbled trying to open Tony's pants but he didn't care – he wasn't eager for this moment to end. He could feel things were changing between them, that there was something Bruce was hiding and that he threw his whole self into this to distract himself from whatever it was. And Tony didn't want things to change because he knew there was no where better for it to go. Change could only mean the end and he didn't want that. He wanted –

Tony gasped as Bruce's fingers brushed the sensitive skin near his dick as he worked at his zipper. Now it was his turn to chuckle as he leaned back to look Tony in the eyes. Tony wished he hadn't though because he was right. There was something there – something guarded – and he didn't want to know.

"Look," Tony started but the word had barely left his lips before Bruce was pressing his lips against his again, obviously in a desperate bid to keep him from saying anything else.

"I asked you to take me away," he mumbled against Tony's lips, his eyes closed, his body slowing to a halt so that it was just his forehead pressed against Tony's and his hands on his neck and he waited.

But there was nothing he would deny Bruce – not when he asked like that, not when it was the only thing Tony could give him that he actually needed. And he hated it, in a way, didn't think it was right but when he asked like _that_...

It was like his fucking kryptonite. From the first moment he saw Bruce it was over. He was pinned to him like a magnet, could hardly take his eyes off him – an enigma, a puzzle, but also a man. A complex man, full of possibilities, and _smart_ and so composed, so grounded, so able to call him out on his bullshit. So the opposite of himself that he'd never dreamed... But for some reason Bruce wanted him, for some reason he calmed the inner storm within him and how could Tony deny him? He – he was –

In too deep.

Words he didn't dare to think.

Tony's fingers followed Bruce's waistband to the button, slipping it through the hole effortlessly, drawing his shirt up to expose skin, hot against his fingers, abs clenching at his light touch. He pushed up Bruce's shirt, grabbed his ass in his other hand and brought him up on his knees, pressing his mouth to his skin. Bruce's arms encircled his head as he sucked kisses into his flesh, leaving red marks down his side and he could hear Bruce moaning softly with each one.

His hand worked Bruce's zipper down slowly as he slid down little by little in the seat, lavishing attention lower and lower on his body until he was at the thin skin on his hips and Bruce jumped with each bite, fingers twisting in his hair, clutching at his hoodie. Tony jerked his pants down his thighs a bit, nuzzled his nose between his hips, so low Bruce was no longer able to hold his head and instead braced himself on the headrest, burying his head against his forearm. Tony could hear him panting, anticipating.

Tony wanted to say something comforting – the tension in Bruce was obvious, wound up tighter than a spring, his whole body shaking with the pressure and Tony was hardly touching him – but there was nothing to say. They were his demons, they were nothing Tony had an experience with. It would be patronizing.

Instead he focused on giving Bruce the pleasure he sought, sliding his mouth over his dick and listening to the way Bruce moaned. It made him uncomfortably horny but he wasn't anticipating reciprocation and he tried to ignore it. Bruce came to him for this and he intended to make it worth it given the circumstances.

Tony didn't bother with lube but he brought his fingers to touch Bruce gently and feel him out. He didn't protest, just cursed under his breath a little and so Tony went a little further. It was almost more than he could stand, the tightness and the heat without lube, and it was hard to ignore his own aching dick so he groaned, knowing Bruce would feel it. And he tried not to jerk his hips but he couldn't help pushing further into Tony's mouth, wanting more.

"Fuck, Tony... _Fuck_," Bruce begged as he methodically sucked at him, fingered him, fast enough to make him want it and slow enough to make him beg. He wanted to drag it out and let Bruce enjoy every minute of the only escape he could give him.

His hips twitched, his thighs shook, his dick swelled in Tony's mouth – his whole body became even more tightly strung as his orgasm built. This sad whine escaped his mouth, a pathetic little cry and Tony knew, just like every time, even if he didn't try to say it, that the fear was there, that he was trying to keep his shit together, that he was scared to let himself go.

There was no way for Tony to say anything to comfort him but he took the hand working tandem with his mouth from his dick for just a minute, reached up and touched his face, ran his hand down his neck, reminded him that he was there, that it would be okay, that he would catch him when he fell – just like always. And it was only a half minute later that he finally let go, a shout muffled against his forearm, his whole body sagging with relief as Tony swallowed, careful to support Bruce's weight with his hands until he could sit up.

Bruce sat back on Tony's knees as he sat up in the seat, buried his face in his neck and held on as his muscles twitched spontaneously in their satiated state. The whole thing had made Tony so ungodly hot and hard it only took him a few tugs jerking off before he was coming, tucked up under his hoodie and on to his shirt so as not to defile Bruce's clothes.

He shivered as he wrapped his arms around Bruce, drawing him in closer, holding him and listening to the way he breathed as he lay tucked up against him. Time passed but it didn't matter. At a certain point he realized Bruce was crying into his neck but he didn't call him out on it, just let him lay there against him, know that he was there, solid and concrete.

"Come back with me," Tony finally murmured into his hair, Bruce's fingers tightening in his jacket. "Spend the night. With me, in a guest room, whatever you want."

The tremor was back for a moment, his whole body quivering, and he shook his head a little, Tony's heart dropping. He brought his hand up, brushing his fingers against Bruce's cheek and tucking hair back behind his ear as he tried to look at him to no avail.

"Why not?" Tony asked, afraid to push, wishing this were easy, that he didn't feel this weight in his chest, that it didn't seem wrong not to push. "Let me _do_ something."

Bruce shook his head and pressed it back against his neck so that Tony had to focus his full attention on just trying to understand what he was saying.

"It's too much, the way I feel it's... it's too big."

Tony wanted to be empathetic but the stupid giddy feeling he got at the confirmation of Bruce's affection overrode his ability to be sensitive. It had been so long since he actually _wanted_ someone to feel that way about him – now he was reduced to nothing more than a lovesick teenager with a crush and he fucking hated it but he still couldn't stop himself from feeling that way, no matter how much he might have wanted to.

"So come back then," Tony implored, grinning and gently trying to get him to lift his head, to look into his eyes and see how happy he was, show him that it was okay. "You know I feel the same way, right?"

"_No_!"

He moaned it out like a wounded animal and Tony was confused. Sure, it didn't change much, they couldn't really be together, it would only make the end harder but – but why did they have to think about that tonight? Tony frowned. Couldn't they just enjoy the rest of the night?

He clutched at his neck and shoulders, trembling, like he was terrified Tony was going to suddenly disappear and he whispered in an uneven voice that was barely audible –

"It – it scares me."

Tony swallowed hard and tried not to laugh. He didn't want to be insensitive, but at the same time, while they weren't on the verge of orgasm and Bruce's fear wasn't threatening his virility, there was only one thing he could think.

"You don't even know what that does for my ego."

Bruce stilled all of a sudden and then pulled back to look him in the face, an adorably disgruntled frown marring his features and Tony had to laugh a little.

"I'm not kidding." He could pout all he wanted, but it wasn't helping.

"Neither am I," Tony answered as he leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. "So come back with me, take a shower, spend the night."

"_Tony_." The plaintive note in his voice hurt Tony but he tried not to let it show, knew that whatever he might think, Bruce's fear was real to him.

He kissed at his jaw, worked his way up to his ear, felt Bruce tense up, biting on his lower lip. He nuzzled his nose against his ear, touched his lips to it. He was nothing if not an enabler.

"Let go," he whispered, feeling a shiver run through Bruce's body. "Come back with me."

Bruce didn't say anything, but his lips found Tony's and he kissed him again, gently, slowly, not at all the way they usually kissed and it did something to Tony, made him feel like he understood. This was big, so big, way too fucking big – like he'd been swimming out into the ocean and suddenly he turned back and he couldn't see the shore any more. But it didn't scare him – he'd be happy to drown right here, right now.

So maybe he couldn't understand but – but he would be there to catch him. He knew that. He would be there to catch him.

He didn't say anything more as he pulled up his pants and fell back into the passenger seat. Tony tried to be discreet as he watched him and buttoned up his own pants, trying to figure out if he'd accepted Tony's proposal or not. But he didn't say anything. He just picked up the package of cigarettes where it was discarded in a cup holder and lit one, cupping it against the night breeze until it was burning bright.

"You make it so damn hard," he muttered, the cigarette only centimeters from his lips, fingers shaking.

Tony started the car to take him back to the penthouse, unable to stop a grin from splitting his lips.


	3. Chapter 3

Although he was loath to admit it, Tony made mistakes. Frequently. It was just that people didn't typically notice his mistakes – but he did. And inviting Bruce over for a night was definitely a big fucking mistake. He only had to occupy the space for a couple hours and that was more than enough time to make Tony want that more.

But he left that morning and it was supposed to be like everything was back to normal – Tony off on business trips and him doing... whatever he was doing. Research. Consulting for S.H.I.E.L.D. It wasn't like Tony was even home but the idea that Bruce might've been there every night, at his place... it would've comforted him.

Maybe it wasn't such a stretch to believe they could be... _something_. Maybe, if they went into it with the right expectations, if they didn't get too attached or if –

But it was too late. Tony was already too attached. He slammed the glass down on the bar in frustration. This whole infuriating thought exercise was proof of that. It was all he could think about for two weeks now and there was no solution. He'd rather be working on literally anything else but instead his mind wanted to chew over this simple yet impossible problem.

Bruce hadn't messaged him for days, even when he had said he was going to come here and wait, but Tony was desperate. He'd given up any illusion to the contrary. He was desperate and that was that. He wanted to see him – needed to see him. Hold him. Touch him. Make sure he was all right.

For once he wished the bartender would come over and talk to him, turn off his brain with meaningless conversation – but no such luck. He stared at his glass so he didn't have to watch the TV blab on about them on a slow news night, playing poorly shot footage of destruction taken out of context and speculated on over and over again. Bruce, of course, got the bulk of the public's bullshit. It was easy to admire and love a rich man dressed up in a fancy suit. Mister Hyde? Not so much. Any good Doctor Jekyll might have done didn't even matter.

He glanced back up at the clip out of the corner of his eye, trying to assess what skirmish it had been from, when he realized he didn't recognize it. And then the TV got his full attention.

The sound was muted and he made a motion to increase it before he realized he wasn't in his lab where technology just responded to him. He was pissed he had to use his voice, not able to draw his eyes from the screen.

"Up. Up, up, turn the volume up!" The words snapped out of him, as inpolite as he had ever been to his faithful bartender but it wasn't really intentional – he could just feel his chest constricting as he watched the Hulk rampage through downtown.

He needed to be there.

The sound went on and the pretty lady with perfect hair could hardly keep the disgust from her voice as she rambled on about how there didn't appear to be any altercation, that this was just a mission of destruction for the Hulk and where was S.H.I.E.L.D. anyway? Anger roiled hot in Tony's gut at her attitude. He wanted to throw the glass through the TV but he contained himself – better than he would've had he been at home – and tried to get an idea of where in the city Bruce was.

He flipped cash on the bar and booked it out of there once he had a general idea, deciding to let J.A.R.V.I.S. take care of the rest. The scenery on the news showed an area not far from his penthouse and that was good. Good as he'd be able to take Bruce back and hide him there as discreetly as possible. Good that even in his current state it must've meant Bruce knew where to go to get help. It was just unfortunate that he had to be at this stupid fucking bar across town instead of at his place where he could have been waiting for him.

Adrenaline pounded through his veins as he sped across the city, J.A.R.V.I.S. directing him to the Hulk's last known location based on media evidence and security cameras in nearby buildings. It was curious that S.H.I.E.L.D. was just letting this shit happen given how they followed Bruce but maybe they knew Tony wouldn't be long in coming to his aid. Who the fuck knew. S.H.I.E.L.D. was anything but predictable.

Though as he approached the site he saw the undercover squad cars, the agents in black garb with guns looking for Bruce and Tony cursed out loud. It wouldn't be the end of the world if they got to him first but it would wound Tony's pride a bit.

He finally came to the last building Hulk had smashed through before the rampage ceased. Apparently. Agents were just arriving as well, scouting the entrance to the building and Tony called out to them, unable to keep the anger and frustration out of his voice.

"Let me go in there first," he demanded and they all kind of shared a look but what were they really going to say? No? It must've been all the rage at the water cooler, the little relationship they had, and frankly Tony was their superior. Not to mention he was rich and powerful and he had a presence about him that people fucking _listened_ to – especially when he was angry.

"You will just piss him off again, so I'll let you know when you can come in," he warned as he stepped over smashed concrete and the once internal structure of the office building in front of him, glad they seemed to accept his direction.

He was sure his time was limited though. Eventually one of their superiors in a suit would show up or word would get back through their walkie-talkies that he was on scene and then they were sure to be sent in after him despite what he said so he had to work fast. Truth was, he wasn't really sure what he was going to do to get Bruce out of there unseen – if he was even still there – but he was going to do whatever he fucking had to in order to keep Bruce off the goddamn television, he knew that.

Concrete and insulation particle dust lingered thick in the air and he lifted his elbow to his mouth so he wasn't breathing in quite so much of the shit. It was difficult to see in the dark but he didn't dare call out to him, just focused on listening for any sign of movement as he studied the wreck. He took his steps carefully so as not to displace anything and inadvertently hurt Bruce but it was infuriatingly slow. In fact, he was just beginning to give up on the idea that he would find Bruce before S.H.I.E.L.D. came barging in when he heard a cough.

Tony rushed forward, stumbling a little in the dark but managing to maintain his balance, finding Bruce curled up naked against one of the few remaining internal walls, nursing his head with shaking hands. Instead of looking up to see who approached, he crouched deeper into himself, like a wounded animal afraid of the final blow and Tony fell to his knees before him, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder that Bruce still flinched away from.

"Hey, it's me. Tony," he said, soft, cautious – a total one-eighty from the person he had been outside only moments earlier. "I'm going to get you out of here."

Bruce had pressed his face into the sheetrock but at that he turned back to eye Tony warily, as though he were uncertain if he was telling the truth. Tony was sure he was still disoriented, but they really didn't have the time to be fucking around. He was hoping they could sneak out the back and around to one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicles while all the agents were standing at the front of the building waiting for him to come back out – but that would take a certain level of cooperation from Bruce and he needed him coherent.

Tony was already taking off his hoodie to drape over Bruce's shoulders. It was warm from his body heat and it smelled like him and he selfishly hoped that it would offer Bruce some kind of comfort or maybe clarity – that it would snap him out of his haze so that they could pull this off. He felt a little encouraged when Bruce's fingers reached for it to pull it closer, when his cheek slid against the soft grey material as if he was nuzzling a memory.

"Do you think you can walk?" he asked quietly, not wanting to push him but knowing it would be better for him not to deal with some over zealous shitbag agents too.

There was a moment where Tony thought he wasn't going to answer, that maybe he hadn't even heard him, but just before he repeated himself Bruce nodded and tried to stand. Tony helped him up, supporting him with his arm as Bruce gained his balance.

Thankfully there were a few extra exits added to the building post Hulk rampage and though they stumbled a few times over rubble and Tony was basically carrying dead weight, it wasn't that hard to make it outside. And the air was clear, it was easier to see, and just as he suspected, all the agents were dumbly focused on where he'd entered. In the absence of direction not a single one of them was focused anywhere else.

Repeating a mental mantra that verged on a prayer – though Tony would never admit that – he changed plans and hauled Bruce as quickly and quietly as he could to his own car, "sneaking" as best as one could sneak carrying a hundred and eighty pounds of disoriented weight along the backside of big black S.H.I.E.L.D. vans. He knew they'd notice as soon as he revved his engine, but by that point it would be too late. And what were they really going to do? Shoot at him? They'd be all pissy, have their panties in a wad, wanting to lecture and harass Bruce and make him go back to HQ and run him through invasive debriefings but fuck that. He didn't need that right now. He needed solitude. He needed rest. He needed... Well. It was selfish. But Tony chose to believe that he needed _him_.

He lifted Bruce over the car door, afraid to open it and draw attention, and when he put him down there was a moment where Bruce's fingers refused to let go of his shirt. He looked up at him and their eyes met. It was one of those moments where time stopped and Tony felt like he couldn't breathe, could only hear the rushing of the blood in his head, and it was too much but he knew when he looked into those eyes that he was doing the right thing. That in his own way, Bruce was thanking him for being there.

As he hopped over his own door he noticed one of the agents do a double-take and start shouting, drawing the attention of the whole lot of them. But it was too late. The car was started and he was already backing out, waving at them with a victorious flourish and a wide smile. He could tell they were less than thrilled and he knew any minute he'd be getting a call from someone over there at HQ but it wasn't a call he was going to take. Unless they were going to send Fury down on his ass over this, which he sincerely doubted, he'd deal with it later.

Right now there was only one thing he wanted to do – and that was get Bruce home and into some pants.

They were nearly back to the penthouse when Bruce buried his face in his hands and Tony knew then that he had fully returned to reality. He frowned. Bruce had to be fucking miserable. But if there was one thing Tony was good at, it was throwing himself completely into a project, and Bruce had become his project.

Tony got him inside, set him on the bed, ran him a bath in his excessive and luxurious tub, complete with the expensive scented oil he never used that was stocked there for him anyway. He'd have to remember to thank his housekeeper later.

He left Bruce there – after biting his tongue on what would've been a poorly timed joke about making sure he didn't drown himself – to make him tea and scrounge around the kitchen for something to eat. There was half a pound cake left in the fridge for him that he took a generous slab of before he instructed J.A.R.V.I.S. to ignore all his calls and especially not pull up any media until he said otherwise. Then he thought better of a total communication blackout and sent a message off to Natasha and Steve that they would make contact with S.H.I.E.L.D. tomorrow but that Bruce needed time to recover first, figuring they'd be the most sympathetic. And so he returned to the bathroom to find Bruce sitting there just as he left him, staring blankly at the water.

Tony sighed and set the plate on the counter before he sat himself down on the edge of the tub, handing Bruce the tea while clearing his throat. Bruce only looked up at him with his eyes, hardly able to do that, and Tony smiled at him a little, trying to show him that it was okay.

"Here. It's your favorite."

Carefully and not all that enthusiastically Bruce took the tea, holding it for an awkward second, like he considered just dropping it, before he took a sip. His brows furrowed in confusion.

"Oolong is not my favorite," he stated very matter-of-factly as he stared at the cup and Tony chuckled.

"How would I know?"

He could tell Bruce wanted to smile at his bullshit but instead buried his face in the cup, surely feeling guilty for being amused after what he'd just done. But Tony took it as a win.

"I have your favorite cake, too."

"Chocotorta," Bruce sighed, trapped in some memory and Tony let him have that moment, more pleasant than the one he was in now.

After a minute he got up, walked into his room to turn down the sheets, gathering up a big, fluffy robe for Bruce that he personally never wore but that Bruce had worn the one and only time he'd spent the night as well as silk pants and slippers – anything to make him comfortable.

When he returned to the bathroom, Bruce had discarded the tea, barely touched, and curled up in the tub, laying his head on the side of it. Tony placed the clothing on the vanity before sitting down next to him, running his fingers through his tangled hair.

"It's okay."

He could hear the sob Bruce was trying to keep at bay nearly escape his lips but he managed to muffle it with the back of his hand. It was just that Tony never knew when to shut up.

"Seriously. In a few weeks, the press will die down –" Bruce started shaking his head but Tony being Tony, powered on through regardless "– and there'll be some bullshit bad guy on an undeserved ego trip to fight and no one will even remember this. Everyone makes mistakes."

"You should've let S.H.I.E.L.D. take me," he muttered and Tony frowned.

"Did you really want that?" Because it could be arranged was on the tip of his tongue, a little hurt by the idea that Bruce would've preferred that alternative.

"No," he admitted, running his hands back into his hair and balling them into fists.

Seeing that this wasn't helping and wanting to hold him Tony started draining the tub, offering a towel to him. Briefly, it looked like Bruce lacked the will to ever move again and Tony thought he really just might try to sit there all night but eventually he stood, taking the towel, drying off half-heartedly and dressing in the clothes Tony brought.

Tony took his tea with him into the bedroom and set it on the nightstand, watching as he lay down on the bed and immediately tried to curl up around himself. Unsure what else to do Tony got in across from him and wrapped him up in his arms. At least he got the satisfaction of Bruce reciprocating the hug, pressing his face into his chest, the soft glow of the arc reactor under his thin white undershirt casting strange shadows across Bruce's face.

After a while Tony realized he was crying but he couldn't let it go this time. He stroked Bruce's hair and kissed the top of his head, his lips still pressed against it as he asked despite fearing the answer –

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

Bruce's whole body trembled and a harsh sob left him and every ounce of Tony hurt, his compassion and feeling for the other man creating a physical ache in his chest. Arms weren't enough. There was nothing he could do to soothe him and it was the worst realization in the world.

"I – I can't control him anymore," Bruce stuttered and Tony's mind raced for an explanation to what he said that was anything but what he'd actually said.

"What?" Tony asked, trying not to let his voice betray his anxiety as he rubbed Bruce's back in a pitiful attempt to be comforting. "I'm sure there are other methods –"

"No." There was a desperate note in his voice, begging Tony to just shut up. "I've tried. I've tried everything. It's not..." He sighed. His fingers twisted in the back of Tony's shirt. "It's almost spontaneous. I can feel it starting but it's like – there's nothing I can do."

Well Tony didn't like that answer. Problems were meant to be solved and he was often the only one who could solve them so surely –

"We'll figure it out," he said, not dismissively so much as that he knew for a fact that they would. Not tonight, when Bruce was so distraught, but tomorrow, in the lab. He'd start tomorrow, he'd cancel his appointments, he'd –

"No." Bruce was shaking his head again and Tony could feel it and it made him angry. "I'm going to HQ tomorrow. I'm turning myself into S.H.I.E.L.D."

"What?" Tony tried not to explode as he sat up in shock and anger, looking down into Bruce's eyes, about to go off.

Tony could imagine no worse fate than being tied to them, studied by them, pinned down like an insect and dissected and – and it wasn't like they could really stop the Hulk anyway, right? Nothing could stop him. So it was just as viable for him to stay here, use his lab, and the suggestion was right there, ready to fall out of his mouth with a strongly worded defense but...

But as he looked into Bruce's eyes the words died on his tongue. His eyes were red from crying, strained, and he was scared – really, truly scared. Anger Tony could deal with from Bruce – shit, even his reluctance and reclusiveness Tony could manage – but it was always his fear that made Tony hurt. And he was begging him with his eyes not to fight it, just to let him go, and as much as Tony fucking hated that... he didn't know what else to do.

Bruce wouldn't have made such a decision lightly, not if he didn't think it was his only option. And despite Tony's self-confidence in his own abilities, he didn't know what it was to be the Hulk. There was nothing he could say, no argument he could form that wouldn't be wishful thinking at best, patronization at worst. He just... he had to let this one go.

So he pressed his hand to Bruce's face, ran his thumb across his cheek, leaned down and kissed him. That same kind of slow, gentle kiss Bruce gave him the last time they were together. Meaningful. The kind that betrayed more emotion than he was comfortable giving but – but it was what he felt.

And tension eased from Bruce's body – knowing that Tony accepted his decision, knowing he wasn't going to have to fight him. It hurt, yeah, _fuck_ it hurt and he sure as hell didn't want to but he was glad he could offer him that. Acceptance. Something Bruce never got from anyone.

"I'm going to fucking help," he muttered against Bruce's lips and Bruce's hands came up around him, pulling him down on top of him, kissing him hard, desperate, like he'd never get another chance. And maybe he wouldn't...

Tony pushed those thoughts to the side and focused on the feeling of his body laying underneath his, the way his legs just naturally slid themselves between his own, as though they were meant to be there, meant to fit together like this, the way his hands touched him so deliberately, like he was just trying to remind himself that he was real, that they were here, now, together.

"Hey." Tony pulled away to look him in the eyes again, drier now, a little more hopeful, lips swollen from kissing, and he wished Bruce had any idea how gorgeous he looked at that moment. "You know I'm always here for you."

A faint blush blossomed across Bruce's face and he buried it in Tony's chest, holding him tight. Tony grinned, glad to see him acting a little more normal, and held him back just as tightly, ruffling his hair with one hand. Tony wasn't wholly convinced Bruce's recent pessimism wasn't a large part of the problem and so in Tony's mind, this was a step in the right direction. If Bruce needed a stint at hotel S.H.I.E.L.D. then so be it, Tony would be right there beside of him until he felt good enough about himself to get out.

And he crowned his head in kisses, moving down to his cheek, his jaw, back to his lips as he pressed him into his bed – optimistic that this was far from the last time he would be able to ravish him under his own roof like this.


	4. Chapter 4

Tony stared at the screen, no longer really looking at the data, his hands clasped behind his neck, tension digging in and expanding into a headache in the back of his brain. Bruce had been here for two weeks and the results were the same as they'd always been. The same as they always would be, it seemed. His brain was deteriorating.

But stubborn fucking Tony wasn't willing to accept that. It wasn't a solution. Not all experiments ended in solutions, they ended in facts. Good or bad, science was indifferent. Normally he appreciated that, but right now he wanted to flip the desk and slam it into the floor.

He needed a break. He needed a beer and a smoke and a fuck. He needed these goddamn results to read differently.

And Bruce. Bruce took being holed up in this concrete palace so well – too well. He accepted the results without flinching. He'd fed Tony some bullshit line about just being thankful that he had confirmation that he wasn't going crazy but Tony couldn't accept that. Maybe that was enough for Bruce, but that wasn't enough for him. He wanted more than that. He wanted Bruce. More than Bruce apparently wanted himself.

Containing himself was difficult. His hands physically ached with the need to punch something and slowly, slowly, slowly they weighed his head down until it was touching the desk and he squeezed his eyes shut tight.

What was he going to do? This was not the future he had envisioned for them. Not that any future he had conceived of ended particularly well, mind you, but this... This was worse than anything he could've ever imagined.

He heard footsteps entering the room but he didn't even bother to look up. Natasha sat down in the seat next to him but didn't say anything. What was there to say? They all knew and had been hanging around HQ for "support" – whatever that meant. Mostly just awkward glances and uncomfortable attempted conversation. Tony was fucking sick of it.

The silence stretched out before them, tension building in his gut with each second that ticked by. Honestly, he wished they would all just leave. He couldn't deal with wearing his normal facade and like hell he was going to fall apart in someone else's arms. But he supposed it was human nature to want to help. After all, he'd been pouring over this data for five hours straight.

"You should go talk to him."

Though her voice was soft and held no malice, the words hit Tony with the force of a sledgehammer brought down by guilt. He felt sick and he just wanted to walk away but simultaneously he was stuck there with his head on the desk, unable to move. Why didn't she understand that had he been able to move, of course he would have gone to see him? But he couldn't. He just couldn't.

"He needs you more than anyone."

Tony swallowed back a welling of emotion that he sure as shit didn't want to be experiencing and turned his head to look at her, his cheek flat on the desk.

"What do you think I'm doing here?" Part of him wished he had sounded more biting and less pathetic but most of him was just amazed that he managed to say anything at all.

Natasha laughed a little, in a sad way, and rested her head in her hand, looking down at him.

"You always think you know exactly what everyone else is thinking," she accused and Tony frowned.

"I do not."

It was a useless counter argument born out of his own stubbornness and she shook her head slightly, smiling. It pissed him off. If anyone thought they always knew what someone else was thinking, it was her.

"I never know what he's thinking."

And that was the truth of it. His feelings for Bruce blinded him to everything but for one thought, one overriding desire – that Bruce might care for him too.

She lay her head down on the desk so that she could meet his eyes on the same plane.

"How would you feel?" she asked and he wished he could look away. "He's scared. And alone. You haven't seen him in days – he probably feels like you've abandoned him."

"Me abandon _him_?" Tony exploded, almost shouting, forcing himself back from the desk.

It took every ounce of his willpower not to storm out of the room but he knew it was useless, that she'd follow him. Instead his fist connected with the wall before he even realized he was at the door. His breathing was hard and erratic, he felt like he couldn't breathe, and his whole body trembling with the force of his anger and frustration.

"Tony?" she questioned calmly from her seat and he glared back at her over his shoulder.

But when realization hit, the anger dissipated quickly, and he hated the way his lip quivered as his hands fell to his sides in defeat.

"He abandoned _me_."

His fists clenched so hard they hurt. It wasn't like he didn't recognize that it was a selfish thing to say but it was the truth. Wasn't it? He was alone in this lab – Bruce didn't even want to try.

"_Fuck_." Tony put a fist on the wall and lay his forehead against it, his headache intensifying. "I know how that sounds."

He heard Natasha shift in the seat but he didn't look back. "Maybe if you talked to him –"

"I get it," he hissed through gritted teeth, not really wanting this lecture.

Could've been worse though. Could've been coming from Steve. Or Thor.

She stood, crossed the room, lay her hand on his shoulder. "Don't make a decision you'll regret because you were trying to change something you can't."

Tony couldn't even look at her, didn't want to see pity or whatever on her face. She was just as bad, giving up just as easily. They _all_ were. Why was he the only one that cared about Bruce enough to try to save him?

He stared at the door for a long time after she left, paralyzed, unsure what to do. He needed a break. He couldn't keep staring at that data – his mind had stalled out on it. But he also didn't really want to go see Bruce. He didn't...

He didn't want to admit it. He didn't want Bruce to try to convince him. The data was damning. It was no wonder he couldn't control the Hulk any more, his pituitary gland was deteriorating, massive amounts of adrenaline running through his system. His body likely couldn't distinguish fight or flight any more and it was honestly an achievement that he'd managed this long without the anti-anxiety medicine he was on now.

And it might have been one thing if it was just the pituitary – but it was spreading. The deterioration was already beginning in other areas of the brain and from his understanding based on Bruce's historical data, it got worse after his last transformation.

However that didn't mean Tony could just lie down and accept it. That wasn't who he was. He bought outright or fought like hell for what he wanted and he fucking _wanted_ Bruce.

It was undeniable. And as much as he didn't want to fight with him, especially not now, he also wanted to see him. To hold him in his arms and kiss him and see him smile and comfort him the way that only he could.

Maybe Natasha was right. Maybe he was being cruel by neglecting Bruce, by thinking only of his own pain. But Tony Stark was nothing if not a self-preservationist. He'd been at death's doorstep before and he just – he just didn't want Bruce to have to be there too.

Before he even processed what he was doing he found himself walking down to Bruce's "suite." It was a generous description for a bunch of rooms he basically took over during his stay but at least it afforded him privacy, a feeling of home Tony supposed. He had moved plants in. If that wasn't indication of a long stay, Tony didn't know what was.

And for once he found himself contemplating what he would say and coming up with absolutely nothing. He knew it was better to roll with his gut in most situations but right now he felt like he needed back up, something to say just in case nothing came to him.

But nothing had come to him by the time he'd reached Bruce's door and then he found it didn't matter, actually. Because when Bruce opened the door, when Tony saw him, he realized it wasn't just what he was going to say that didn't matter – _nothing_ really mattered. Nothing but him.

"Tony?"

His name barely had a chance to leave Bruce's lips before Tony was pulling him into a hug, holding him tight and burying his nose in his hair and breathing him in. It seemed stupid. Now he was the one desperate to cement Bruce to this reality. He'd been so absorbed with the idea that he was grounding Bruce that slowly then suddenly and all at once – Bruce was the thing grounding _him_.

Tony felt Bruce's hand come up and cradle his head, fingers brushing through his hair, comforting him in ways that weren't even logical. He was supposed to be the one comforting Bruce and the only thing he could think was – what was he going to do without this?

His selfishness really knew no bounds.

"I'm glad you came," he murmured, fingers balling into a fist, holding Tony against him just the same. "I thought you didn't want to see me."

"No," Tony breathed. Nothing could be further from the truth. All he wanted was to see him. He just didn't want to see everything else – to come face to face with their reality.

"It's okay," Bruce said, seeming entirely too calm for the burden of emotion Tony was carrying. "I'm not mad."

It was like a weight Tony didn't even know was pressed upon his chest had been lifted. How was forgiveness so easy for Bruce? He'd avoided him for days, left him alone, abandoned him – as Natasha said. Tony didn't even realize what that was doing to _him_, let alone to Bruce.

He wanted to say so many things in that moment – "how are you?" or "I missed you" or maybe more than that – so he didn't dare open his mouth lest the wrong thing fall out. Instead he pulled away, tried to create distance he didn't really want because he still didn't want to get hurt. What was the point of saying anything about... about _love_ when the thing he loved would inevitably be taken away from him?

But Bruce put his hand on his cheek, trembling just slightly, and looked him in the eyes, searching them, seeking out everything he kept locked away deep inside his heart, looking for some affirmation that Tony shared the emotions he wore so freely on his sleeve and Tony didn't know what to show him. Wouldn't it be worse if...?

And then Bruce smiled, a little smile, a ghost of a smile really, just the slightest curve of his lips before he leaned in and kissed him.

Bruce was rarely so forward – Tony felt he was always chasing after him – and he wondered if maybe it was just that now Bruce didn't have anything to lose. The thought made Tony sick to his stomach and he had to pull away from those soft, warm lips. Admitting defeat wasn't an option for him yet. Even if he was the only one who refused to admit it.

"The anti-anxiety medication is working, isn't it?" he asked, his voice coming out awkward and strained, and he cast his eyes at the floor, unable to look at Bruce as he laughed this sad, sarcastic little laugh.

"Yeah. It helps," Bruce muttered, crossing his arms defensively over his chest as he took a step back, trying to separate himself as well.

"So they can buy us enough time to –"

"You don't get hit with as much radiation as I did without there being ramifications," Bruce interrupted, leaving no room for argument.

Tony looked up at him then, pleading with him silently to say something, _anything_ that would give him the smallest bit of optimism. But Bruce's eyes were hard, the set of his mouth was hard, his whole body language dared Tony to say it, say anything, any counter argument – and every single one fell apart in his mouth.

All he knew was that staring at him like that, eyes locked in a silent battle of wills – he wanted that for the rest of his life. He wanted that challenge, those eyes, that mouth and the dry scathing observations it snapped out. The brain that put together those particular words in that particular order and stayed up with him working scientific theories. The lips that smoked those shitty cigarettes, blew out the smoke, kissed him. The fingers that held those cigarettes so tenderly, that held him, too, that clutched and twisted in his clothes as he came. The man standing before him, the whole thing, he wanted him and he wanted him not just for this moment or the next or the one after that – he wanted him _forever_ and he – he just...

"I _need_ you," he whispered in the split second before he gave up on words and leaned in and took Bruce's face between his hands and pressed his lips against his.

Tony could talk and talk and talk, spin out so many tall tales and fantastic stories, make any number of meaningless people fall in love with him in an instant but the one person that mattered, the one person that he truly wanted to love him and he was at a total loss for words. He felt crippled, handicapped, and he felt...

He felt Bruce's hands on his waist, shaking as they embraced him. He felt Bruce's lips on his, insistent and needy. He felt the press of his hips and the heat of his chest and the way his heart slammed against his rib cage just to be this close to him. It was overwhelming. It was the closest thing to home he'd had now. How many more times would he feel this, all of this? He needed, desperately _needed_ to know that it could be forever.

"I need you, too," Bruce panted in the brief moments when their lips parted and Tony moved back just enough to see his eyes again, to see exactly what it was he meant because – because he needed to know. He needed to know that Bruce wouldn't give up on him.

"I mean –" Tony started but Bruce quickly overlapped him with a murmured affirmation.

"I know," he said – and then everything intensified.

Tony was desperate to crawl inside him, to feel every part of him embracing him, holding him, surrounding him. Bruce was pulling off his shirt with hands shaking so badly Tony didn't know how he managed but together they did and then his own hands were up under Bruce's shirt, feeling the softness of his skin. And they tumbled together backwards through the room to one of the futon couches, utilitarian in nature so agents could sleep there when needed, and it groaned under their combined weight as they crashed down on it.

They laughed a little and Bruce's whole body trembled beneath him and he kissed his lips, his jaw, the sensitive spot beneath his ear. One hand cradled his head as the other worked at his belt buckle, anxious to give him the one thing he knew how to offer. Because as much as he'd deluded himself into believing that it was for Bruce, he was beginning to realize it was a lie – that this whole time he was just trying to show him everything that was in his heart the only way he knew how.

Bruce whispered his name, urgently, Tony's lips curling into a grin as he worked kisses down his stomach. He could feel Bruce's fingers twisting in his hair, tugging on it, but he just moved his mouth lower, down to the waistband of his pants.

"Tony!" he repeated in a gasp and Tony stopped then, able to tell something wasn't right.

He looked up and Bruce's eyes were squeezed shut. He'd removed his hands so that he was clutching at his own arms, hugging himself defensively, and his breathing was becoming erratic, the shaking in his body more intense than it had ever been before as he tried to hold on to himself.

Any residual arousal Tony felt immediately died as he realized what was happening and he felt like a selfish asshole for even trying this right now. And he felt lost because didn't know what to do to help Bruce fight this internal struggle but he couldn't just sit there and watch and do nothing.

"Bruce," he said, placing a hand on either side of his face, holding him still.

"_Bruce_," he repeated, emphasizing his name, trying to remind him of who he was, who he _really_ was.

"It's Tony," he tried. "Look at me."

But Bruce's eyes stayed shut, sweat beading on his forehead, and he tried to shake his head as he moaned weakly, caught in some private hell as he fought with the beast inside of him. Tony tightened his hands on his face, wanting to slap him to snap him out of it but afraid of the consequences, feeling like his hands were tied and there was nothing he could do. How could he catch him if he wouldn't even fucking _look_ at him?

"Look at me _goddamnit_!" he shouted in frustration and Bruce's eyes snapped open, a terrible green, and he inhaled a deep breath as his hands reached out for Tony, clinging to him like a lifeline.

"I – I'm scared," he stuttered out, fingernails biting into Tony's arms but he didn't even feel it. "I can't fight it!"

"Yes you can," Tony replied, his voice even and steady despite the turbulence tearing him apart inside to see Bruce this way, fighting with a demon he'd long ago conquered, no longer within his control. "Stay here with me. Stay with me Bruce – I need you _here_. You're safe here with me."

"No I'm not," he moaned, closing his eyes again and trying to jerk his head away but Tony's hands remained steady, unflinching, and he was physically stronger than Bruce.

"Hey hey _hey_ – open your eyes again buddy." For a minute Bruce fought him but it was only a minute and Tony was relieved to see his eyes flutter open again without much resistance.

"Come back to _me_." There was emphasis in his voice that spoke of desperation and betrayed his emotion in a way that wasn't particularly flattering but Tony didn't care. He wanted Bruce to hear it, wanted him to know.

Then Bruce's breathing began to even out, eyes reverting back to their normal brown. The shaking got worse for a moment but the tension was fading from his muscles and Tony figured that was a contributing factor.

"Fuck," he cursed and Tony could hear Bruce in it and so he released his face and sat back on his knees, straddling him as Bruce threw his hands over his eyes to hide his face.

"I thought the medication –"

"It was just too fast," Bruce interrupted, sounding pained. "I didn't have time to mentally prepare myself for you being... here."

Something in Tony felt funny then and he got up and sat back down, off of Bruce as he sat up too, burying his face in his knees. What was that supposed to mean? _He_ had caused this? All that stuff about being scared? Was Bruce scared of _him_? The way he felt? Fucking A. How was Tony supposed to –

"I..." and just like always with Bruce, Tony was at a loss for words and he regretted taking Natasha's advice, regretted coming here.

Then he realized Bruce was crying and he didn't even know if he should reach out to him. He just sat there, paralyzed, unsure if anything he could do was the right thing to do. It was devastating to be so fucking useless.

"I can't do this!" The cry was born out of pure desperation and frustration, like an animal with its leg caught in a trap, and Tony couldn't even look at him, all of his insides aching. "It's just going to get worse and worse and worse until I have no control over my body anymore and I –" He paused and a gut-wrenching sob escaped him. "I can't even kill myself."

"Fuck," Tony growled, not wanting to hear this, wishing he was anywhere but right there, contemplating just walking out but goddamn, what a coward. He just had to hear about it – Bruce had to live it.

He turned his head towards him, Bruce's eyes red, tears streaming down his cheeks and Tony could only look at him from the corner of his eyes, couldn't stand to see it, didn't want to. It made it too real, that there was nothing they could do, that Bruce didn't believe there was any other solution, that they were totally, completely fucked.

"You saw the data. You understand, right?" he said, his voice surprisingly clear considering. "Soon – quite soon – it won't just be stress responses I won't be able to control. I won't be able to walk, to feed myself. I won't be able to process memories."

He laughed then. It came out strangled and sad and the uncomfortable tension between them grew and Tony knew he didn't want to hear what Bruce was going to say next. A sarcastic smile spread across his lips and Tony looked to the floor, unable to bear seeing him that way.

"By the time I could conceivably kill myself without the other guy showing up, I won't even be able to hold a gun."

"Christ," Tony muttered, fists tightening, unsure what he could possibly do or say after something like that.

He listened to Bruce shift in the seat, the distance between them a palpable wall that Tony didn't think could ever be crossed. They'd gone too far and what would he say? And what could Bruce say? The only thing left to say was nothing Tony wanted to hear. Not now.

"You know, I'm not afraid of dying." His voice was soft and quiet, almost reassuring but that was ridiculous because how could Bruce be reassuring _him_? "The thing that scares me is how little time I have left with you."

His voice cracked on the end and Tony turned to him and suddenly there was nothing that could possibly keep them apart. He wrapped Bruce up in his arms, holding him tight, tucking his head under his chin and resting his cheek on his soft hair.

"Jesus, Bruce," he whispered, closing his eyes so that he couldn't tell how they were watering. In that instant he thought maybe if they both just sat like this and didn't move, didn't talk, didn't even breathe, everything would have to stay exactly as it was and time would stop and neither of them would ever die.

Yet time did move, although Tony couldn't be sure how much had passed as he listened to the sound of Bruce's breathing, even and calm against his chest, syncing with the sound of his heart beating, dragging him step by step closer to death. But no matter how much time went by, no words came, nothing seeming even remotely worthy of the waste of breath and yet...

Silently he made a promise to Bruce that with the limited time they had left, he would never leave him alone again.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I just wanted to take a moment to thank anyone who stuck with this and read it all the way through. It's a new fandom for me and this is the first multipart I've managed to complete in almost a year after finally managing out of a particularly difficult moment in my life. So honestly, I can't express how much it means to me that someone read through this bit of catharsis with me as I wrote it. Thank you.

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><p>The smell of curry would probably be stuck in his car forever but Tony didn't care. Bruce had been subjected to a long string of take out over the past few weeks but tonight, Tony wanted to get him something special. Because tonight was special. And he knew Bruce loved a good curry. Would've made it himself but for the the fact that the S.H.I.E.L.D. main office didn't have much more than a couple banks of microwaves. So, unfortunately, take out it was.<p>

It smelled good enough though and he watched agents glance at him as he carried the bags down the long corridor with a bouquet of white roses tucked up under his arm. He was dressed nice – probably nice enough to make Bruce feel uncomfortable – but not over the top. It didn't matter though, once Tony had his mind set on something he did it. And he'd decided a week ago that if he couldn't take Bruce out on a proper date, he'd bring the date to him. They both deserved that.

Bruce's condition was deteriorating rapidly. He'd accidentally transformed into the Hulk once, but was easily subdued. Tony heard the agents brag about it in the breakroom. "Like a bear with tranq darts." Like Bruce was bloodsport. But after that, his muscle control began fading fast and he would drop things he was holding, struggle to stand – but then he also struggled physically manifest the Hulk after that. That was, in his mind if not Tony's, a good thing. Even despite all that, Tony was still optimistic, until a week and a half ago when Bruce began to forget relatively simple equations and then Tony gave in, acknowledging that even if they were able to halt the damage to his brain, he would never be the person he wanted to be, the person he was. The next morning he canceled everything to be with him for every moment he could.

He'd spent every night since on one of those shitty mattresses spooned up behind Bruce, holding him in his arms, stroking his hair and watching his eyelashes flutter in his sleep under the pale blue light of the arc reactor. For hours Tony would just stare until his eyes burned and his brain hurt and he knew he needed sleep but how could he close his eyes when he knew he only had so much time to commit each and every curve of that handsome face to memory? And each morning he would wake up with a start, a cramp in his neck and his back tight, not remembering when he eventually fell asleep but always regretting it.

There was never enough time – but there was enough time for him to regret that the rest of his life.

Tony entered the room with as much flair as he could muster, grinning and trying not to let the pain tug his lips down as his eyes fell on the man who possessed every ounce of his affection.

Bruce smiled in return, and it was unsettlingly genuine. Tony hated it, the look in his eyes, like he wasn't really quite sure where he was anymore, like he was losing a little bit of himself every time their eyes met. But there was still that look of recognition, that happy little spark when their eyes met, and Tony allowed himself to relish in that – that at least he hadn't been lost yet as Bruce quickly lost more and more of himself.

"What is this?" Bruce asked as he attempted to stand, leaning heavily on the arm of the futon but Tony hurried to unburden himself and stop him from straining.

"I just wanted to do something special tonight. Some people occasionally tell me I'm romantic," Tony explained as he grasped Bruce's arm and lowered him back into the couch, pressing a welcoming kiss to his lips and feeling the confusion in the smile beneath them.

"You should've told me I –"

"I didn't want you to do anything at all," Tony replied, letting his thumb trail across Bruce's cheek as he stared into his eyes, his own little smile feeling too sad on his face. He knew, one day, he would forget these eyes. There just wasn't enough time...

"That smell..." Bruce murmured as Tony stepped away to set up some music and he glanced back over his shoulder, watching as Bruce's brows furrowed as he tried to place where he had smelled curry before. And just as it had over and over a thousand times in the past few weeks, Tony's heart broke.

Shoving aside negativity Tony hit play on the list he had specially crafted for this night and the jumpy open to Van Morrison's Moondance floated from the shitty little speakerbox. He heard Bruce sigh a soft "oh" of recognition as he began unpacking the boxes of curry, rice, and naan.

"This isn't your music," Bruce said with a hint of a joke as Van Morrison crooned about what a fantabulous night it was and Tony turned to look at him, standing and crossing the small room slowly.

His gut instinct was to try to force him back down, make sure he didn't exert himself, but Tony held back and let him have this last vestige of perceived freedom. He just looked so damned thrilled.

"You recognize it?" he asked and Bruce nodded, clearly pleased.

"Yeah, I –" but he faltered then in his excitement and Tony moved forward to wrap him in his arms.

There was a momentary, embarrassed laugh from Bruce before he caught his balance again, unfurling his fingers from where they clutched at the back of Tony's shirt. And then Bruce was holding him too and Tony realized he was intentionally swaying, if out of time with the music, his chin resting on his shoulder, lips at his ear.

"And when you come my heart will be waiting," he sung softly, bolstering Tony momentarily with the fact that he could remember the lyrics. "To make sure that you're never alone."

"There and then all my dreams will come true, dear," Tony continued, the aptness of the song threatening to choke him up entirely as he clasped one of Bruce's hands in his own and supported his back with his other, resting his face against his cheek, breathing him in as he sung with him. "There and then I will make you my own."

Bruce pulled away a little, laughing. Tony smiled a strange, self-conscious little smirk, the cheesiness of what he was doing overwhelming him but Bruce's eyes met his own and he was so pleased, so happy. He still felt the uncomfortable blush on his face as they continued their silly little dance, but his smile became more honest, more genuine as he rocked Bruce in his arms.

When the song ended Bruce buried his face in Tony's shoulder and laughed again, his whole body shaking with it, and for a minute Tony was happy. The warmth of that action spread through his chest, unfurling like a flag and snapping through him until he was laughing too. And it was nice, laughing with him like that, no longer worrying because he knew exactly how this would end – knew that he wouldn't have to see Bruce suffer any longer.

"And here I thought your entire music collection amounted to Black Sabbath's greatest hits," Bruce teased and Tony released him in mock-offense as he moved to finish unpacking the rapidly cooling curry.

"There's a little Iron Maiden thrown in to fit the theme," he defended as Bruce moved over to stand next to him and watch, holding onto the counter for stability but their shoulders were pressed together and that made Tony happy, too.

"Theme?" Bruce asked, looking at him skeptically. "Trashy English power metal bands with formulaic names?"

"Iron?" Tony answered and Bruce laughed and shook his head, their eyes meeting.

"That's bad – even for you," he accused with a smile and Tony's couldn't say anything, afraid that his voice might fail him.

"Well, you know," he managed, coughing a little to clear his throat as he looked away, focusing a little too hard on the styrofoam packaging. "I guess you can't win them all."

Bruce's fingers reached for his then where his fist rested on the formica and touched it tentatively. It was stupid to assume Bruce didn't feel his inner turmoil, didn't see his romantic facade pasted over the pain. He wasn't an idiot, even if his memory was spotty and he'd come to terms with the situation way before Tony did.

"Thank you," Bruce said, his voice quiet and it was difficult for Tony to look at him but he managed, his eyes soft and sincere.

"I would've cooked for you," he said, feeling stupid but for some reason he needed Bruce to know that. That he would've served him brilliantly, that he could've been a wonderful partner.

"I know." He smiled – open and honest and not at all like the tiny, tight smile that was all Tony could manage – and it was like he understood, even if he didn't. And Tony unclenched his fist and let his fingers drift over Bruce's for a moment.

They ate curry and rice folded into naan sitting next to each other on the futon couch, Bruce with one leg curled up under him, seeming so casual and light. And Tony talked about nothing meaningful – projects he wanted to work on, traffic on the way over, the latest guest spot Pepper was trying to talk him into – and it almost felt normal. Whatever normal was. Not that it mattered. Lack of normalcy didn't make Tony want it any less.

Tony could feel Bruce's smile on him as he set his makeshift plate on the coffee table and he wished it didn't make him so uncomfortable but he couldn't help it. Not tonight.

"You know I don't believe in God or fate," he said and Tony leaned back to look at him, throwing his arm over the back of the couch as Bruce picked apart a final piece of naan with little intention of eating it, it seemed. "Because I've often wondered for what purpose God would create a monster like me. And if there were fate..."

He trailed off, clearly losing track of his train of thought and Tony hated it, hated watching it. Bruce was the most brilliant man he'd ever met and he could hardly string together a hundred words any more. He wanted to say something but he couldn't bring himself to speak. His tongue felt like a wad of cotton in his mouth as he watched Bruce fumble to order his thoughts.

"Anyway, it was – what you said to me, when we first met. It made me angry but... I really held on to that." His eyes turned downward then, almost like he was shy and it was sad and sweet and Tony leaned forward just a little so that his fingertips could brush his cheek. "No one ever said anything to me like that before, that I might have a purpose beyond military application. It's just too damn bad –"

Tony's throat constricted but he pushed forward and pressed a kiss to Bruce's lips to shut him up. Then he drew back and gave him that reproachful look that Pepper said reminded her of her father. Which wasn't really what he was going for but oh well.

"It was worth it," he said simply and Bruce looked like maybe he didn't believe it but he wasn't going to argue. Tony more than anyone understood how important it was to find purpose beyond your birthright. "Even if –"

And then Tony kissed him again – more confidently, more passionately – feeling Bruce melt against him, knowing that there was no reason to say anything more because it didn't matter. Tony wouldn't have traded the time they had together for anything. Though he might always regret having not acted sooner so that he'd had more time to show Bruce just how much he meant to him and just how worth it his life was.

But he had this moment.

He slid in closer to Bruce, drawing his arms around his body and holding him close, hands that were used to building things ready to take him apart piece by piece until he was begging to be put back together again.

Every detail he lingered on, commited to memory. The warmth of Bruce's lips, how full they were, how willingly he opened up to him – a man so used to guarding himself constantly welcoming him in. The way he smelled like ardor and spice, already creating a nostalgia in his gut as his nose nuzzled against his curls, teeth nipping his ear. The way it felt to hold him like this, close against his chest, Bruce's head on his shoulder, his body solid and warm and real.

Then Bruce drew back and smiled at him before getting up to transition the futon to a bed. Tony helped, watching him. They'd done this every night for a week and a half but this time he wanted to remember it. The way Bruce moved, fluid and assured, for a brief moment it was the way he used to be. Tony wanted to remember that.

They lay down side by side, one of Tony's hands under his face, his thumb slowly moving across Bruce's cheek as he watched his eyes, his other hand undoing his buttons one by one, stroking the skin underneath as he went. Bruce's chest constricted, muscles tightening reflexively, eyes closing as he slide his fingers lower but Tony didn't wanted to rush it. This would be the last time and he wanted to make it count.

He kissed him again, carefully, cradling his head with his hand and letting his fingers slide through the soft curls of his hair, reaching around to the small of his back and pulling him in close so their hips aligned. They were like mirror images like this, exactly the same, and with his eyes closed Tony could imagine that it would be like this forever and Bruce would be right there, reflecting him, always.

And then Bruce was laughing and Tony moved back a bit to look him in the eyes and he couldn't help the self-conscious smile that spread across his face.

"You're being so serious," he accused, smiling back at Tony but in an honest, genuine way that made Tony's heart weak. Bruce brought his hand up under his cheek to grasp Tony's fingers. "You don't need to be so serious."

Tony's hand slid up under his waistband just a bit then and back around to his hips where it dug in playfully, causing Bruce to jolt and laugh. Tony captured that laugh, committed it to memory as he smiled back at him, laughing a little himself, unable to stop it.

And he kissed the column of his throat, feeling the vibrations as he teased that ticklish spot on the inner edge of Bruce's hip while he worked his shirt up out of his pants. He could feel Bruce's hand trying ineffectually to reciprocate, managing to jerk his shirt up a little but he was derailed by Tony's teasing, not strong enough to overpower him in his declining state of health but Tony didn't take full advantage of that. He only wanted to make him laugh, make him happy.

They undressed each other with teasing touches as though they were in high school again, each article of clothing removed with kisses and fingertips across skin, an affirmation for Tony. Each press of his lips a prayer, a worship, like the exaltation of Bruce would force him to remain a part of this reality.

When finally they were fully undressed Tony threw a blanket over them, grinning back at Bruce grinning up him, the soft light of the arc reactor bathing him in beautiful blue light. Tony thought maybe he would never be more handsome than that, illuminated by his own heart. He figured not even the light of heaven could make him appear more beautiful.

He prepped him slowly, hands that knew intimately every inch of his body shifting and stroking until Bruce was sweating and panting and his thighs were trembling. Tony's own hair was sweaty and falling across his forehead from the heat building under the sheet and when Tony removed his hands from Bruce's body to finally slide it down his shoulders their skin prickled in the wonderful cool air. Bruce's laugh was thin through his panting and Tony didn't give him a chance to catch his breath as he kissed it out of him.

And as he slid into Bruce for the last time, Tony wondered how this was ever supposed to be enough. An entire lifetime compressed into one night. He could only stare down at him and fight back the emotion building in his chest. His only comfort was that even a lifetime with him wouldn't have been enough.

Tony went slow, laying his head on Bruce's chest as he held the small of his back as well as his hand, fingers squeezed together tight, each push forward making his head butt up against Bruce's chin. But Bruce's hand was on the back of his head, fingers threaded through his hair, gripping it, each exhale a little sigh timed with his thrusts that sent a shiver up Tony's spine with every one.

He buried his face in his skin and so that he could hide it when the tears came, knowing he was close but not wanting this to end. In that moment he felt the weight of his failure press down upon his chest. He could fix himself, bring himself back from the dead, give himself a new heart – but Bruce Banner was the one thing he couldn't fix. He had failed him. He failed Bruce and he failed himself and now both of them were left with nothing but this final moment of what? Pleasure? How could he feel pleasure at all when his ribs ached with the pain of what he was going to do and the fact that he would never hear Bruce's voice again, never feel him underneath him again, never sink his fingers into his skin and inhale his musk and quip witty comments at his theories and sit next to him in briefings making silent observations about the state of their teammates and wait for him in that shitty little bar jazzed up on anticipation and want and lust and need and and and...

His teeth sunk into his lower lip and he swallowed down a sob as he felt orgasm build hot in his gut. He didn't want it though, didn't dare want to give up this precious moment with him, but his body fought him and he wiped his eyes quickly, desperately, as he moved his hand down to Bruce's dick. But the tears lingered and he fought his body until the last moment where he could no longer hold himself back, a few quick movements of his hips and he was falling helplessly into Bruce.

And Tony drew back to look him in the eyes, to catch his moment of pleasure and commit it to memory the way he had everything else. At least, if he remembered all these little things that made Bruce who he was – his pleasure, his pain, his movements, his dry sense of humor and the way his hands touched everything in this cautious, careful way, like maybe he was never a part of this world to begin with – Bruce would always remain alive inside of him, within his heart, the heart that would never really die.

Bruce's body contracted as he came, all of his muscles tightening and his eyes slamming shut, his teeth clenching as he groaned Tony's name and Tony watched it all. Felt Bruce's cum hot on his stomach, Bruce's fingers digging into his skin, holding on, holding him, holding holding holding...

Tony held the back of his neck as he brought him up and kissed him, tasting the salt on his lips and his skin, feeling how hot his body was. It was metaphysical but Tony believed that each person was a universe unto themselves and holding Bruce like this he realized that he was nothing but a dying star. He'd been birthed in explosion and lived his life through a series of horrific transformations until his body gave up and collapsed under the weight of his light and his heat.

But he wasn't ready to let go. And he collapsed down next to him, holding him tighter than ever, side by side, the way he always wanted to be, just too late. The arrogance though – who was he to try to hold onto a star? But there was an overwhelming sadness within him, welling up and threatening to pour out of him, when he knew that in his arms there was an entire universe he would never be able to truly explore.

They lay like that for a long time. Bruce fell asleep at some point – he got tired so easily now – but Tony didn't mind. He just stroked his hair and listened to him breathing a little while longer as his playlist reset itself and Moondance began playing again. It wouldn't be long before Bruce needed his next cocktail of medication to keep him in line, each minute that ticked by twisting Tony's stomach into a tighter and tighter knot.

He felt sick and his throat constricted as he thought through what he was going to do. But despite his brain screaming at him not to do it, that there had to be some way to solve this, to fix it – in his heart, he knew it was the right thing, the thing Bruce would want. The one thing he could do for Bruce that Bruce couldn't do for himself.

Just because he struggled to manifest the Hulk didn't mean the Hulk wouldn't still try to protect him from a decision that would affect them both.

Bruce jolted when he woke, his whole body shuddering for a minute like a car with a faulty ignition that fought to turn over, but when he looked up at Tony he smiled. It was full and warm and sincere and Tony could feel the weight of the burden on his chest taking his breath away as he smiled back. Bruce deserved that, deserved to think he was happy – and the facade was necessary to maintain.

"How do you feel?" he asked, sitting up as Bruce rolled over on his back and out of his arms, grasping at the blanket a few times before he succeeded to grab it and pull it more comfortably across his stomach.

"Good. I mean..." He paused for a minute, meeting Tony's gaze and chuckling. It came out wobbly due to the tremor in his body. "Don't know if I can sit up right now, but that probably has to do with the fact that I need to take my meds, I think."

Tony tried to laugh but it was obviously forced and he leaned down and kissed Bruce's shaky lips for what was probably the last time before he stood. He struggled to be casual, not to make it so damn obvious but... It was like a forced disassociation, like someone else was driving his body and he was just watching, pleading with himself to kiss the shit out of Bruce, bury him in his arms and never, ever let him go, hide him away from time and the whole rest of the damn world so that nothing and no one could ever take him away. But instead –

"I'll get it," he offered, reaching for his pants and slipping them up his hips, leaving them open as he walked towards the counter where Bruce's medication was kept.

His own fingers trembled as he reached into his pocket and grasped the little vial he'd cooked up for Bruce, knowing that it contained the end of everything. He took a breath to steady himself and hoped that Bruce didn't notice. But Bruce was laughing and Tony took a cautious glance at him over his shoulder, trying not to let his face betray the inner turmoil he was feeling.

"What's so funny?" Tony asked, watching as Bruce struggled to lift himself up on his elbow to meet his eyes.

"This song," he replied, a wistful smile on his face.

Tony forced his eyes back to the counter to ready the syringe. The song was Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton, he noted. The entire playlist was just a selection of songs J.A.R.V.I.S. had recorded Bruce having played in the lab at one time or another with various additions based on the genre. He had no idea why Bruce would find it funny.

"Yeah?" he prompted, hoping he wasn't failing miserably at keeping his voice light, a little desperate for Bruce to distract him from what he was doing.

"This song always makes me think of the first time I ever went to one of those soirees Stark Industries hosted," he said, a gentle lilting note to his voice that shredded Tony's insides. "I felt so awkward there, I'm not sure I spoke to anyone."

"Not even me?" Tony asked as he turned around, trying to still his fingers as he stepped back towards the futon.

"You were so preoccupied."

Bruce laughed again, that lazy smile on his face that only made an appearance when he was truly relaxed. It made Tony feel a little better to see it now. At least, in the end, Bruce had been happy. His life could've ended in so many more tragic ways – perhaps this was the best thing he could give him.

"I've always had time for you," Tony answered earnestly as he sat down beside him, helping him to sit up though his weight rested heavily against Tony.

"But I –" Bruce started, then looked down like he was embarrassed. Tony grasped his chin with his fingers and brought his face back up to kiss him. Not the last, maybe this would be the last, and so he was soft and tender, no teasing tongue, just a press of his lips that he hoped helped Bruce understand that he was everything. Everything.

He drew away and stared at him under heavy lids, watched the smile blossom across Bruce's face once more. The song was spinning a line about love lighting in her eyes and it seemed altogether too much. Bruce would never know how much he loved him. Even if they'd had this lifetime, and the one after it, and even the next – it wouldn't be enough. Nothing would ever be enough. The world wasn't enough for Bruce. Bruce was too much for this world.

"You danced with Pepper to this song," he said and Tony stared at the syringe in his hand as he spread Bruce's forearm across his legs. "Right there, out in the open, and I thought – I thought it was perfect. That she was perfect. That you were perfect."

Tony swallowed hard, knowing that any delay would cause suspicion in his subconscious but...

It was strangely effortless to slide the needle under his skin and into a vein. Bruce didn't even flinch as the lethal compound entered his body. The one gift he could never give himself and he didn't even know.

"And I thought," he continued, his voice tight, and Tony looked at him, wondering if he might cry – but his eyes were dry. "I thought the way you looked at her... it was perfect. And I knew you would never look at me that way."

Tony didn't have any recollection of this night but he didn't say that. Instead, he set the syringe down and wrapped one arm around him as Bruce lay his head against his shoulder, the other hand stroking his cheek with the backs of his fingers. He knew his lower lip was trembling but he couldn't stop it and it was too late anyway. It didn't matter any more.

"But I was wrong," he said, his voice quiet and still and utterly calm, such a harsh juxtaposition to the intense steamroller of emotions slamming through every nerve receptor in Tony's body. "You're looking at me like that right now."

"Is that what you want?" Tony asked, unable to stop the tears from falling, just hoping he had another thirty seconds before they started in earnest.

Bruce's lips quirked up for the last time. His voice was so soft that in another moment Tony may have missed it, but at that moment the whole entirety of his existence was focused on each tiny breath that Bruce still took.

"All I ever wanted," he said.

Tony waited, made sure to keep staring him straight in the eyes like that, just like he wanted, watched as the faintest little smile graced his lips before he breathed out a long shuddering sigh and still Tony stared until his eyes were so full of tears he couldn't see any longer as they tumbled down his face.

And he held Bruce's body close, clinging to him, knowing that he would never really be able to let go. There were no wracking sobs, no cries of agony. Just a never before uttered whisper of "I love you" and the sad realization that neither of them would ever know just how much.


End file.
